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As any traveller knows, the best way to explore a new environment is to stay on the move. We long for the road less travelled, but what happens when we abandon the road altogether? Exchange traversing land for sea and you will open yourself up to a whole new world. It’s my first time sailing a tall ship. A leap into the unknown. Expert hands guide me and the rest of an enthusiastic but inexperienced crew through mastering the sails. Europa becomes another beast when she unfurls; twenty-six sails are masterfully hauled free and set to the breeze. Suddenly she has wings. We glide, a constant easy breath of wind guiding us south along the Scandinavian coast. The ship comes alive when she reaches open water. The hull sighs under the hiss and slap of waves. We sail south from Fredrikstad past humps of volcanic rock that rise out of the water like turtle backs. I look out over the forecastle; the waves beneath are studded with jellyfish. I chat with Jozef, a sailor of merchant ships. He tells me fantastic stories of his voyages, but these are all by motor. The reason he is here, why we are all here, is for the majesty of sails, for the call of the wind. We steer the ship and scout the water as the sun spills gold over the horizon. When we are ordered to take the sails away, I climb the rigging. I imagined platforms and crowsnests, but the route up has only ladders and bars of metal to perch on. I step out onto the yardarm, bare feet balanced on a rope which runs along its underside. Looking up and out at the water, I feel like I’m flying. Both sea and sky seem bigger here, the horizon pushed far back. The next day Denmark is to starboard, Sweden to port. Land flanks both sides, a strip of green above the waterline guiding us to our first destination: Copenhagen. The city greets us as we arrive, pedestrian onlookers waving hands and capturing photos of our vessel. While the winds are still, I explore a part of the city called Christiania: a republic founded on an abandoned military base in the seventies. Over a thousand people call this place home, living in adapted army buildings around a lake. The area is serene and alive with wildlife. A mother coot and her chicks follow us at the water’s edge and I spy black-headed gulls, herons and geese. The centre of Christiania is teeming with life. Every surface is bright with graffiti; music plays, Chinese lanterns hang and hawkers sell their wares at small market stands. Many of these sell cannabis, which Christiania has proclaimed legal, though Copenhagen has not. As I turn back for the ship a dozen police enter as part of a dance that has existed for years. By the time they reach the market the illicit hawkers will have ghosted themselves away. Back on deck: two, six, heave! Halyards are raised, sails are dropped and staysails are set. It takes twenty minutes and every available hand. When the canvas fills with air, both ship and crew are lifted. When we reach the North Sea, dark skies rip open in sheets of rain. A whip crack of thunder, and lightning strikes the sea. A brave sun fights through, lancing black clouds to lay a sabre of light across the water. My centre of gravity rises and falls as Europa raises her head and bites down into white foam waves. After nine days sailing we reach Amsterdam, our final destination, and come to say our goodbyes. I find we are a changed crew. We are diverse in our origins, our ages and languages, but united by our command of the ship. We step off the gangway, two feet back on land. There is no doubt that Europa has left a piece of herself in each of us. We depart with a rush of sea in our souls and a sailor’s longing to return to that great blue expanse.